The fifth horseman

 
 
To prise my eyes wide open
only to close them once again,
nothing is as it ever was
except for the blasted rain.
 
If I walked though haunted cities
that are castles in my mind
to find my dreams could be colourful,
but realise I am colour blind.
 
Sunday and the sermons start
for believers and those with the
stomach
if not the heart to listen in.
 
I rise to close the window
but it’s just another door or
a bridge to burn like my
breakfast toast,
 
wondering what I’m here for.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.